The Hunger Games: Capitol Punishment
by SwanCastielWinchester
Summary: The Rebellion is over, the capitol taken and Panem is forever free of the curse of the Hunger Games. Or is it?  With District 13 in control and resistance futile, it's the Capitol's children who are in trouble this time.  Let the Games begin.
1. Chapter 1

**__A/N: **

**I'm not Suzanne Collins. I don't own The Hunger Games or anything you recognise in this story.**

**Anything you don't recognise and aren't from canon are my ideas, specifically my OCs.**

**I'm not making any money off of this, it's completely non-profit, I'm writing it for fun, however many ways I need to say this...**

**No,w the legal stuff is out of the way- enjoy! **

**Love, SwanRue! :)**

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><p><strong><em>Chapter One<em>**

I sit up straight in bed, wiping my eyes free of the tears which continue to collect around them. Another nightmare. I try to convince myself it's not real. But it is, at least, it was. My memory flashes back, my mother shrieks my name then my brother's, he cries as I pick him up and hold him tight. And that's when they fall. Kenna reaches his little hands out to grab one of the silver parachutes, he clasps his fingers tight around it. Then it happens. Screams erupt as explosions fill the air, the gates break open and adults stream in, mother runs towards us. Kenna drops the cannister and I run, he screeches as I trip, landing flat out on the hard floor. It blows. Gravel flies everywhere and my cheek is bleeding, but that's not what's worrying me. I can no longer hear Kenna's cries.

"No!" I shout, still struggling to revive myself from the memory, but it keeps creeping back, the yells, my yells. His body, crumpled and singed, bones bent backwards and gravel penetrating every inch. He had stood up after I fell, just in time to catch the full front of the cannister, that, moments before, he'd been holding. I trip backwards over more body parts that litter the floor, and then I see her. My mother. Eyes still wide and worried as the blood from her skinless scalp drops into them.

I sit up, my eyes darting around my living room, half expecting someone to jump out of the shadows, but no one does. I am alone. There is no one left. I straighten myself out on the blood stained white sofa and feel my rag-doll cheek, I sewed the cuts back together myself, and consequently the effect isn't quite perfect. But I don't care. I turn on the T.V. half way through the morning news announcing many more on the "confirmed dead" list. I wince.

I leave the house, running as hard, fast and far as I can, I'm soon stopped by the rebels, I look up at them and they let me go. I keep running. Each day I run further, because each day it hurts more and there is nothing I can do but run till my physical pain meets my mental pain. The rain starts to fall and I stop, grateful for the hydration it gives my body, I go to the side of the road and lie down in the mud. The rain hides my tears.

I head back through the rain as it pounds down on my skin. It would be so easy just to die now, to never have to get up again. And a part of me knows that no one would miss me, but another part contains a will to live so strong, that how ever hard I try, I just can't seem to do it. My body won't let me die. Well, not voluntarily at least.

I smash the door shut and groan. I strip off my drenched clothes and dry my body off with a towel, I look down at the dog tag my father gave me and collapse to the floor. "Caela, listen to me" I fight the memory, knowing it'll just make it worse, but it's too strong. My father takes my hands in his, his palms are sweaty and his tone urgent. "You need to learn to survive, no one will help you now." He doesn't cry, he just stares and stares. "You need to be able to feed yourself, keep yourself warm, and more than anything, stay in the game." He continues, ignoring my protests. "Caela, for what I have done they will punish me, but that won't be enough for them. They will find some way of hurting you too, don't let them take the only thing I have left." I cry into his arms and he holds me, tight, he takes off the tag that sits around his neck and places it around mine. My eyes grow tired and my senses low, as I drift off to sleep I hear him whisper "May the odds be _ever _in your favour."

I shriek, the memories are ripping apart the little sanity I have retained, my father's face on the news, the gunshot, the blood. I hyperventilate, my heart quickens, my hands are shaking, his last words resonate through my head "May the odds be _ever _in your favour." But what does he mean? I know very well that these words are the slogan for the Hunger Games, I have watched it ever since I was born, my father being on the Game makers board. Personally I have never particularly enjoyed watching them, the idea of children killing each other to survive didn't particularly appeal to me. But they are over. Now the rebels have control of the country, there are no more Hunger Games! Unless? No, they are done. I lower myself into the bath and soak there, watching as red blossoms in the clear water. My cuts have reopened. My head spins as the blood continues to flood out, I pull the plug and myself out of the bath and stare at my body in the wall size mirror. I am covered in cuts and burns, the most prominent are the two on my left cheek, like dark red war stripes.

I dress the wounds carefully, considering the new shape that my medicinal running has given me. My body is thin and wasting away, with the lack of nutrition, but there are definite signs of sculpting. I drag my dark, wet hair into a ponytail, I was never one for the capitol's crazy hair colours, and ever since the take over a month ago I stopped wearing the red contacts which tinted my blue eyes purple. There's no point in them now, no one cares.

I walk across the hall into my parents bedroom, opening my mothers project wardrobe. She had once been a stylist for the Games, where she met my father, but once they married mother quit to look after me and Kenna. The wardrobe is full of clothes suitable for physical activity, I take out some leggings and a vest top and get dressed. Lying on their bed I stare out, my exhausted brain bringing back memories of my father. I'm nine and my father's rummaging around in his office, I wait excitedly on his bed, he comes out grinning and holding a piece of black leather that has been rolled up into a cylinder. My face drops a little, unimpressed. He opens it out. Inside lies 7 silver knives, in size order, shinning in the sunlight, 12 darts, a short sword, a long sword and an axe. He lays them on the bed and as I 'umm' and 'ahh' over them, he brings out a gold bow with silver arrows.

I hit my head hard. That was 6 years ago, there's no use bringing back old memories, it won't bring him back. I walk up to the office door and tentatively open it, sensing movement the lights turn on and I climb up the flight of stairs. Being in the job he was in, father's office isn't quite like the average office, it is large, taking up a whole floor of our..my house. Deadly looking weapons glitter on the closest wall and on the wall opposite is cover by target boards. Kicking a practice dummy out of the way, I take up a knife and throw it effortlessly. It soars 20 feet before it thuds into the bulls eye of the smallest target board. I smirk. Throwing knives is the only thing I have ever beaten my father at, he would always pretend to be upset by his inferiority to a young girl, but really I knew he was proud.

I sit down on a little blue sofa, next to the only TV in the room, huddled up in one of my father's jackets. The dummy lies in the middle of the room shredded to pieces, the aikuchi sword didn't take to it kindly. I start to drift off, my mind exhausted by the flashbacks.

I'm standing on the ground, encompassed by a glass tube, I bang on the sides, shouting for someone to let me out. No one comes. Instead the ground starts to lift up, a circle as big as the one I'm standing on opens above me and the cold air hits my face. I can hear a voice talking, but I can't tell what it's saying, the platform continues to rise, my head peaks above the gap in the ceiling and the light blinds me.

I wake up. Sweat has drowned my body and I blink furiously against the office lights. As my senses slowly return I notice the little TV flashing blue and white as a woman's voice announces that there is an important announcement for the Capitol citizens. I moan groggily and sit up straight as the face of President Paylor hits the camera, the time on the corner of the screen reads 4:30am. This is an important announcement.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Capitol and of Panem," she begins, my attention slacks a little. "It is my duty to inform you of a motion that was passed before the death of our former president, President Coin." My eyes flit up at the tone in her voice and I scan her face. She is tired, exhausted in fact, her face looks resigned and upset, what is so important that she has evidently spent all night discussing it with her government? That it is to be announced at half four in the morning? My eyes narrow.

"This year, 24 capitol children are to compete in the 76th, and final, Hunger Games."


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter Two_**

Click. It all fits. "May the odds be ever in your favour." This is what he meant. The last Hunger Games, the final revenge of the districts on the capitol, it will be our children that suffer this time. And as it favoured the rich and powerful in the districts, I am sure it won't this time, it will be people like me who will be at the disadvantage. I look back to the screen where Paylor continues to talk "The reaping will begin the day after tomorrow, attendance is mandatory."

It is several hours before I can move, but eventually I do it. Separating myself from the sofa is a lengthy process, my brain is misted over, movement seems to help. I pick up a belt of knives and strap them around my waist, before leaving the office and once again going into the rain. The rain helps me think straighter, clears out the shock and brings on the emotions. I start to run. It takes 5 blocks before my brain starts talking sense. I am one of thousands and thousands of children in the Capitol, what is the probability that I'm chosen? But the nasty voice in the back of my head reminds me of my father and his words "...and more than anything, stay in the game." Don't be stupid Caela, he couldn't know, there is no way he could know.

I keep running wishing my worries would go just as quickly as the pavement beneath my feet. But no matter how hard I run, how far I get, they keep coming back. The sun goes down and tiredness eats up my body, there is no way I can make it back home before my muscles collapse. I look up into a tree, its branches are spread out and durable looking, before even thinking about it I begin to climb, higher and higher into the tree, occasionally slipping on a branch which is still wet from the rain. I find a wide branch that has a soft pillow of moss at the end and lie down, head resting on the moss. I look down, it's a long way to fall. Remembering the acts of the 'Mockingjay' and winner of the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen, I use my knife belt to strap myself to the tree, very glad I'd brought it.

I wake at first light, it takes me a moment to remember where I am, all I know is that I am starving. I try to sit up, and wind myself on my knife belt, I unbuckle it and try to sit up again, more successful this time. I look blearily around me. A large rabbit is grazing happily beneath a nearby tree. My stomach rumbles. I take a small knife and throw it, the sound of the knife alerts the rabbit and it turns just in time for the blade to soar straight into its eye socket. I climb down and walk towards the rabbit. I pick it up by the ears, take out the knife and start on my way home.

By the time I reach home, it's almost dark. I light a fire in the grate before turning my attention to the rabbit, chopping off its legs, tail and head. Ignoring the blood that's seeping over the white carpet, I take out a pan and slit the rabbit's stomach over it, so all the guts spew into the pan. I look at my knives and am reminded of what tomorrow will bring. The reaping. I try to distract myself once more with the rabbit, readying myself to cook it. I return to the fire and knock out the remaining flames before placing the tin-foiled rabbit on the hot coals.

My mind floats back to the games, horror fills my body. Why would they do this? Sink so low as to use our own Games against us, punishing children for the adults' crimes. Hypocrites. These are the very things they rebelled against. I throw the rabbit flesh, now cooked, into a pan with an assortment of vegetables and stock before pouring it into a large bowl. It occurs to me that this is the first proper meal I've eaten since...I banish the thought and finish my stew.

An alarm that I didn't set wakes me up the next morning, I glance at the time, it's half eight, the reaping starts at ten. I lift myself out of my parents bed, where I had spent the night, and rifle through my mother's project wardrobe once more, but this time right to the back where the dresses and suits lie. I take out a blood red dress, the colour seeming somewhat appropriate, with elbow length sleeves, a wide neckline and a slight flair at the bottom. I tie my hair into a messy bun, with loose strands of hair curling gently down. I cannot understand my need to look nice, I feel like I owe it to my mother to show the world her creations. I leave my face free of make-up, and slip on some black ballet shoes. I stare at myself in the mirror, the red of the dress has the desired effect; it brings out the two scars on my cheeks brilliantly.

I step out the front door, knowing that this could well be the last time I ever do so. I join the crowds of children marching towards the presidential house; I'm the only one I can see without anyone else, except a dark haired boy. His face looks familiar and I resolve that I must have seen him in school. He sees me staring and smiles nervously, I return the favour and he heads towards me.

"Caela? It's been ages, I hardily recognised you. You've changed." The last two words sound a little pained, but I pretend not to notice, instead I concentrate on his voice. Old memories begin to surface. I'm not the only one who's changed.

"Emery?" he smiles a little and nods. Our parents had worked together as Game Makers, leaving us to play together as they worked. And then it hits me, "They're..?" he nods again, lowering his brown eyes. "Same." We walk for a while in silence.

As we come up to the gates he takes my hand, I look at him and understand him perfectly. Our shared pain has reinforced our old friendship. In a world that has taken everything we had, we have only each other left.

"You have to sign in." says an irritated boy, as Emery attempts to break down the electronic barrier. He glares at him and the boy's resolve weakens. He fumbles around with a clipboard, dropping his pen. I pick it up and throw it to him, it falls to the floor again and we smirk.

"Names?" he says struggling to reacquire his authority on the situation.

"Emery Scatern" he glanced at me. "And Caela Fyers." The boy searches through the papers and it is him who smirks this time. He takes two sticky labels writes on them and hands them to us. Mine reads 'Caela Fyers. 83.' I look at the number in confusion and peak over Emery's shoulder to look at his it reads his name and then the number '78'.

"I don't understand?" I say staring at the smirking boy.

"It's the number of times you are entered into the reaping."

Emery takes my hand and pulls me towards the barrier, we climb over it and mingle into the collecting crowd.

"But Em," I shout as he pulls me in. "I don't get it?" He turns around so quickly I walk into him, he doesn't seem to notice. He stares down to me his face grave but before he can explain President Paylor's voice fills the space.

"Children of the Capitol, today is the day we will find out which 24 children will be competing in the last Hunger Games. Each child can be entered up to 100 times, dependent upon how closely related to those in power during the Capitol's run. Once the 24 children have been chosen, the Districts will then bid on which two children they want to represent their district."

My hands tighten around Emery's. My heart is beating hard, my breath chokes in my throat. He knew about it, my father, he knew that they would keep on punishing him, even after his death. Emery's eyes sought mine, I stare back hopelessly, trying to figure out his facial expressions. He turns away and I hear him whisper "I have nothing" my eyebrows thatch in confusion. But I don't have time to pay any more attention, a silence like death falls over the presidential grounds. The reaping is beginning.

I look out over the heads and up to the steps, where a stage has been erected, on which stand 24 chairs and two big glass domes full of little slips of paper. The president moves forwards and dips her hand into the bowl marked "boys" she pulls out a little slip, the crowd collectively shudders. There are at least 2000 children in the square, the chances of Em being chosen are slim. She opens out the slip and reads the name written on it: "Corbin Nekrewess"

Gasps of recognition echo out as a tall, raven haired boy pushes his way through the crowd and onto the stage. His face is magnified on the large screen- he has light grey, unforgiving eyes and cheek bones that look like they could cut diamond. He sits down on one of the 24 silver chairs. The chairs start to fill up, as more and more girls and boys are picked from the dome, and after each pick my heart lightens, every pick makes it less likely on me. Two picks that made a particular impact on the crowd was that of Bellona Snow, the granddaughter of the old capitol President Snow and her brother Maichal, they both have white hair and the same colour skin.

The time wears on, and finally only two silver chairs are left, as each chair had filled my grip on Emery's hand loosens until we are just linked at the elbow. We are both considerably happier now, I start to imagine what life will be like after this. We will be free. We can go off into the countryside, live off the land, anything to escape the pain. Paylor unwraps the penultimate slip of paper and reads out the name as I watch Emery's face, it contorts in pain and his hand grips mine tight. The president's words echo in my head. "Caela Fyers."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

"NO!" someone shouts. But it's not me. I walk forward in a half dead slumber, someone's hand is around my waist, pulling me back, but I keep walking. "Take me, let her go, I volunteer, I'll be her tribute, just don't...take her." The hands are yanked away as I reach the stage, I climb the steps and take my seat.

There is some disturbance and a boy staggers onto the stage, he mumbles and Paylor shakes her head. "A male tribute cannot replace a female tribute" She says. He makes avid hand movements, as the crowd grows restless, she takes up the microphone, looking unhappy. "The last male tribute has volunteered. The final contestant of the 76th Hunger Games will be Emery Scatern."

My senses come back. My face flicks up and everything comes back into focus, Emery's face comes into view, looking defiant. I stand up, and before I can think about it am running towards him, I hug him.

"You can't," I whisper. He smiles, his eyes lighting up a little as he whispers back, "You are all I have left, my only friend, I couldn't leave you. Not now." I take his hand and we walk to our seats ignoring the mystique wonderings of the crowd. We sit down still hand in hand. It seems however much they take away from me, it's never enough, they have to leave me with nothing.

They escort us off the stage and into the Presidential house, where we are given our own quarters and I sit there on my bed. Nothing seems real. I observe nothing, I hear nothing, I feel nothing. A knock on my door brings me back to my senses, I'm in a teal room, where each and every piece of furniture is cream as well as all the fabrics, although they are also covered in frills. The knock is reiterated.

"Come in," I croak. A stately dressed man enters, he has slick brown hair which is parted down the centre.

"The president wishes for you to gather for dinner." I nod and follow him out the door and through the corridor. It's marble. Everywhere. Both the walls and floors are marble, I wonder about the style for a minute, before remembering, I don't care.

We reach the end of the corridor, where the man holds the door open, possibly the only thing in the house that isn't made of marble. I thank him, before remembering, he is an instrument in my death. Nodding, he beckons me to go into the room, and I walk in. The floor is once again made of marble, but the walls are of a dark wood, possibly mahogany, I consider this for a while before once again remembering, I don't care. And yet I do. For some reason this place fascinates me. I scan the room; the table is made of the same wood and seated around it are the other twenty-three tributes and the president. I see Emery and walk towards him, he looks back at me, stands up and pulls out the chair next to him, the only empty chair left. I sit down, grasping his hand under the table.

"You are the 24 tributes of the last Hunger Games..."

"Tell us something we don't know." says a bulky boy with dirty blonde hair and a tan complexion.

The table sniggers in appreciation and Paylor raises her eyebrow a little. "Yes, thank you for that, Kyrie."

"Well, we're lined up for the slaughter," I say grimly, without thinking. "At least let us have some fun." The sniggers stop, there's complete silence. But not an awkward silence, a strong silence. An agreement.

After several long minutes Paylor broke the silence. "Tomorrow night the districts will bid for their two Tributes, you will know that this is not a standard part of the Hunger Games, but due to the fact that you do not come from the Districts these must be allocated." We nod in understanding, and she smiles. "Good, well enjoy your meal." She gets up and leaves as waiters enter with platters full of food. We eat in silence.  
>A dessert is brought out, a chocolate mousse with small dipping biscuits.<p>

A small boy with dark red curls and grey eyes announces what the room is thinking. "Only one of us will survive." Emery's eyes light up and he smiles, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Well, I'd hate to die without knowing your names, I'm Emery Scatern, my mother was a Game Maker."

"Marcellus" says the boy. "My parents both owned a shop." I grimaced. This boy's parents had surely done nothing wrong to merit this kind of punishment.

"Bellona and Maichal Snow. No prizes for guessing who we're related to." She grins, her blue eyes shining against her pale skin.

The conversation continues till I know everyone's name in the room. I go back to my room, holding Emery's hand tight, he looks at me. His face has grown tired of the pretence, he now looks at me with tired eyes, the other tributes stare at us eagerly and I pull him into my room, shutting the door behind him. "Why?"

"Why, what?" he asks back innocently.

"You know what! Why did you do it? Volunteer like you did." His brow furrows, his dark eyes dig deep into my blue ones.

"Because they have taken everything, then for a few short hours, life gave me you, a friend in a friendless world. I couldn't let them – I couldn't..." Tears rose in his eyes. "Couldn't let them take you, if I could just, just protect you." I nodded, trying to stop myself from crying.

"Thank you," I whisper.

On attempting to leave the room, we discovered they'd locked us in, I couldn't help laughing. We take it in turns to change in the bathroom, I come out in a flowing night dress and him in his boxers and a vest.

"They don't appear to stock men's pyjamas in your room" he comments, grinning. We get into bed glad it's a double and sleep at either ends, it's not long till Emery falls asleep, but it takes a while for me, the bed is too squishy, giving me the uncomfortable feeling that it's trying to swallow me up whole.

The rain falls down on my face as I run. My breath clouds the air in front of me. The ground steeps up, I turn to see the water collecting at the bottom of the valley. Someone's breath is close behind me, gaining on me, my heart explodes and I fall to the ground. "Caela, Caela!" A voice calls me out of my dream. I scream. Every limb is flailing, every organ is in shock and every nerve in agonising pain. A warm hand caresses my face and a voice tells me I'm okay. Slowly, I come to reality and realise, I'm not okay.

Tears stream from my eyes as I look up into the face of my only friend in the world. "I'm sorry," I mutter wiping my forehead free of sweat. His face is concerned looking.

"It's fine, don't worry, I was just..."

"Worried?" I finish and he grins.

"Well yes, what happened? You were screaming and shouting and..." he tails off and I look at him guiltily.

"I get these...nightmares, recently, I mean since..." It's my turn to trail off, but he doesn't push me for it, just nods.

I stand up and check the time. Half five. I no longer feel tired, I check the wardrobe to find new clothes waiting inside, a red dress, floor length with long sleeves and a black suit, with a white shirt and a black tie.

"They've cottoned on to you being in here then, they've got a suit for you," I say pulling out the hanger and throwing it at him, whilst pulling out my own dress. Emery admires his suit and looks over at me, he laughs at the expression on my face, somewhere between disgust and amusement. "It's revolting!"

"Work on it then!" he says grinning. I look at him, baffled. "Well, your mother was a stylist, you've gotta have some tricks up your sleeve."

I think about it for a second, and then smile, now this is something I can do. I search through the cupboard and find a small darning kit. I moan. "No scissors."

Emery raises his eyebrows and saunters into the bathroom, I hear him rummage around for a while, before coming back in with a small pair of nail scissors. "All you need is a little resourcefulness."

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><p><em><strong>AN: Thanks for reading my fic! Every review is another sponsor, let's help out our favourite tributes as much as we can? Love you guys! Please send this to other Games fans if you think they'd enjoy it! **_

_**Also, this is being beta read by checkmate14- I'd tell you to read her stuff, but she doesn't write. She just corrects my grammar. **_

_**Love, hugs and sponsorship gifts,**_

_**SwanRue :)**_


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Four_**

We sit in the back room, waiting to be called onto the stage. It seems that everyone else has been welcomed up and we are the last ones left. Emery looks at me, his face vaguely amused, and I look back nervously.

"Welcome to the stage the final two tributes, Caela Fyers and Emery Scatern." Applause sounds and we push through the teal curtains in front of us and onto the same stage I had seen so many tributes have their interviews on. The crowd went mental.

I looked down at my dress, no longer the ugly mess that I had pulled out the cupboard, I have fashioned it into the style of one of my mother's creations. It is asymmetrical, going from a mini skirt and waving down into an ankle length gown, on one side a shoulder strap and the other falls slightly over the shoulder, and cuts down to a V-neck.

I smile, as the crowd keep applauding and the female tributes glare at me. They are all wearing the same dress I pulled out the cupboard, but in various colours, ranging from deep pink to a putrid green. I have also made alterations to Emery's suit, but those are less noticeable, pulling in the flares to skinny jeans, and fashioning a tie out of the spare material from my dress.

We sit down on the two remaining silver chairs as the crowd is reined in by officials, I smile a little at the impact the dress has made but hide quickly, not wanting to seem smug. Caesar Flickman saunters onto the stage and smiles at the crowd, sitting down on one of the two red sofas that take up the centre. His hair is crimson and I am sure the colour wasn't his choice.

"So, I know all of you at home are buzzing to find out which two tributes you have voted to take on as yours, but whilst the results are being collected, there has been an unusual rule added to the mix!" My heart pounds, this is when they put on the spin, what makes it their Game, rather than the Capitols.

"In honour of the Hunger Games that gave us the Mockingjay, two tributes, from the same district, will be allowed to win!" The crowd can't contain themselves and go absolutely wild. I flash Emery a grin, but he doesn't look so convinced.

"_However_," he shouts over them. "Should your other tribute die, all sponsorship gifts will be withheld and there may be other consequences besides. Now let the Tribute Claiming begin."

A slip of paper is pulled from a jar with a tribute's name on it. The tribute is then summoned to the stage, following which the voting would go crazy, and whoever had the highest percentage of their people bid on the Tribute, won them. So far Bellona Snow and the shop keepers son, Marcellus had been bid on by District 3, Corbin, the first to be drawn in the reaping, was the property of District 8 – a particularly female populated District following the rebellions. The last tribute to go up was a girl called Myra. She was stunning, the only female Tribute, it seems, to be wearing the shapeless dress and pull it off. She was chosen by District 5.

Another slip is pulled from the jar and Caesar calls "Caela Fyers". I step forward and seat myself upon his request.

"So, Caela, whilst we wait, let's talk about your fabulous dress. Now, I can't help but notice that all the other tributes are in very similar dresses, and yet yours... who did you pay off to get that beauty?" He jokes. I smile, feeling a little self-conscious – at least the ugly dress would have covered me up more. I see him waiting for an answer and try and sound amiable.

"I didn't pay anyone!" I laugh. "No, I got the same dress, but took the liberty of altering it a little. My mother was good with a needle, she taught me a thing or two." I look at the little screen that showed the voting, there was a lot of green. Hopefully that's good.

"Indeed she did! That is quite incredible." He glances at the screen, evidently gaining more from it than I did. "How about a twirl?" I get up and swivel on the spot, the crowd makes noises of affection and I sit back down. "Well, we have the results and I think everyone is dying to know which district has claimed you." The room goes silent. "Congratulations District 12 on your female Tribute, Caela Fyers!" I smile wildly, for some reason this pleases me, so I go with it. I wave at the crowd as I walk over to stand with the other claimed tributes.

I can't bring myself to look at them. My head pounds, I try not to let my discomfort show, not wanting to seem weak. I can no longer look at the other tributes, before I hadn't thought about it, but if I want to survive, at least 22 people have to die. I try to suppress the thoughts, concentrating my energies back onto the claiming and onto who my partner is going to be.

I look at the remaining boys, there are ten. Nine. I clap as District 10 claim a rat faced boy, whose name I can't quite remember and will never ask. Maybe it'll be easier if I don't know their names, easier to think of them as animals, to think of their deaths as necessary, an unfortunate sacrifice.

I shake my head, now isn't the time. I look up to see Emery sitting at complete ease on the sofa, he's talking about his suit, I grin as he recounts the story of me insisting that I take in his suit, and how I managed to stab him in the leg with the needle. He's most certainly a crowd pleaser, the audience is grinning and laughing.

"As much as I would love to hear more of your stories, Emery, I have the results of your claiming." my stomach clenches tight, my pulse beats hard and my breath comes quick. With all that had happened, I hadn't had the time to think over what would happen if we weren't...I try to stop my thoughts but they just keep coming. What if it ends up the two of us, could I? Could he?

My head spins faster and I will Caesar to just tell him, but I know that this is too good a moment of suspense to give up. Everyone is quiet. My heart is so loud I'm sure the whole studio can hear it. Caesar's face drops, and he looks at Emery with the deepest sympathy. I freeze, every bone in my body tort with horror. "It looks like you're going to have to put up with a few more needles in your leg, welcome to District 12."

I don't even have time to process this information before I am caught up in a tight bear hug, ordinarily the constriction of my vital organs would bother me somewhat, but not now. I just hug back, glad to have my best friend on my side. He puts me down and we grin at each other, the audience applaud, but we don't hear them. All that matters to me now is that I don't have to kill my only friend.

I don't pay much attention to the rest of the Claiming; just stand there, happy with the prospect that we could both survive this mess. We walk out into the streets we know so well, where a car waits for us. We slide into the back, ignoring the crowd around us. It is a short ride, shorter than the one that had taken us here, and as we get out I recognise the training building where the Tributes spend their time before the Games.

I get out, looking up to the polluted sky, which – although better than it was during the Capitol's reign – was still quite bad. A porter meets us at the glass doors, and leads us to an elevator. He presses the button labelled '12' and the ground moves smoothly downwards. We are still holding hands. The lift stops and the doors slide open. A man is stood in front of them, a man whose face has populated the Capitol screens for many months.

"Welcome to the Hunger Games," says Peeta Mellark, sarcastically.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

We sit on the sofa in silence whilst our mentor asks an Avox whether dinner could be served now. I am astounded by the politeness with which he addresses the man, no one I've ever known has treated an Avox with such respect.

Emery catches my eye and mouths something to me, I raise my eyebrow and he does it again. This time I catch it. "Look at his face." Assuming that he isn't talking about Peeta, I look closer at the Avox, and choke on my water.

His skin glitters in the light – covered in metallic blue spirals, "Azure?" I whisper and the whole room turns to look at me, but I don't care. I keep eye contact, my temper rising. So this is what they did to anyone related to the Games? He was just a secretary, he followed my Father around devotedly, and just for that, they force him into a life of slavery. I thought this kind of abuse was the reason the districts rebelled in the first place, but then I look at myself and my situation. District 13 didn't seize the Capitol to stop the abuse; they took it so they could manipulate their own.

Emery takes my hand and pulls me back to the sofa; I finally break eye contact and look hopelessly at the boy holding my hand. All he says is "I know," but it's enough.  
>Peeta sits down next to me "It'll be another few minutes," he says. "Then I have something I want to show you." We sit in silence, none of us had anything to say that could be said in the view of the 'Eyes' – the nickname I gave the new Capitol – we would just have to wait until after dinner.<p>

As much as I dislike the Eyes and their hypocritical games, I can't help but enjoy the meal, ever since my parents died meal times have been pretty poor. I feast on the stew and dumplings and sit back against the back of my chair full to bursting.

Emery breaks the silence, "So," he says. "When are we going to die?" I laugh, but Peeta doesn't see the funny side.

"If you've already given up, Emery, I don't need to help you. But I thought you volunteered to try and help Caela stay alive, what good is that if you've already decided your fate?" Peeta stares at him as his eyes fall to the ground. "But if you were wondering about our schedule?" We nod. "For the next three days you have group training, following which you will have your District training and the last day before the games, your interviews."

We finish our dinner in silence, and Peeta beckons us up to the roof. As far as I can tell there are no cameras – I assume this was why we are here. We stand there in continued silence, waiting for Peeta to break it and eventually he does. "You are very popular in District 12, you know," he says gently, staring out into the Capitol fumes. "After your little hero episode. You had 98% of its population voting for you. I think you reminded them of Katniss and me." He smiles. "District 12 likes their star-crossed lovers, especially when they can both win."

There is an instant uproar. "We're not in love..." we both yell. "we're just.."

"Friends?" Peeta finishes and we nod. "Well whatever you are, keep it up." We nod once again and I pluck up the courage to ask him the question I've been thinking all along.

"What do you think about the about the Games?" He laughs, sarcastically.

"Hypocritical, stupid... and fatal." I look down, glad that our mentor was on the same page as us.

"And what do we do about it?" asks Emery. Peeta looks up, surprised. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, you're just not the typical capitol children, you're tougher." He grins. "and you can do what you dare to."

There is another silence in which I consider what I would "dare" to do. I have no family, all they can do is hurt me, and I'm not sure how much I care about me anyway.

Peeta interrupts my reverie. "Are either of you any good at anything?" I look at Emery.

"We're Game Makers' children." He said.

Peeta grimaces, but Emery ignores him. "We test out the weapons that go into the arena, the Game Makers' kids are known for being tough."

"That's not what I asked." I thought for a minute, what was I good at? Well, that's easy.

"Throwing knives." I say and Emery agrees with me, Peeta nods and looks expectantly at Emery.

"I'm resourceful and I'm... not stupid." he ends lamely and I laugh.

"He's a brainbox," I say grinning, and Peeta smiles.

"It looks like between you, you two might have a chance."

I sit in bed, thinking over our conversation. Peeta thinks we have a chance. It is just what I need, a little bit of hope in a dark world. I start to fall asleep, my head feels uneasy as I slip into unconsciousness.

I look out through the rain, a dark shape moves in the distance, and I squint in an attempt to see what it is. I stumble backwards. The shape is advancing; I turn around and start running, the mud causing me to slip and slide. My breath is heavy and uncontrolled. I turn a little to see the shape. It's gaining on me. I keep running, turning to see if the beast is still there. And then all of a sudden, it's gone. I stop, my breath clogging up the air in front of me, searching desperately. I look back around, just in time to catch a glance of the beast that moments later knocks me face down into the mud.

I scream myself into consciousness. I look around my slowly lightening room, kick off the covers and sit there, hands around knees until a woman walks into the room.

Hello?" I ask, looking up at the thin, very short, silver blonde girl.

"Hi," She squeaks, I look at her expectantly. "I'm Aida, your escort for the Games." I nod and get up following her out of the room, grabbing a robe as I leave the room, and putting it over my pyjamas.

I sit down at the table, and scrape back my hair and start to eat. It's a couple of minutes before we're joined Emery and Peeta. I look up at Emery, his eyes drooping and bloodshot, and smile, he cocks his head and I shrug.

"First training day today. Don't seem too good at anything will you, you don't want too many people wanting to kill you." says Peeta yawning. "Try to get better at stuff you're not good at, that's what they told me anyway." Emery and I nod and go on eating our cereal.

It's not long before Aida is begging me to go and get dressed, I oblige finally, and go to put on the training gear, a dark blue, lycra jumpsuit and a pair of trainers. Emery is wearing a similar outfit. I take his hand as Aida beckons me into the lift that had taken us to this room last night. As I close the door I see Peeta's pained face fixated on our entwined hands.

My heart pangs as I enter the training room. It's a larger version of my father's office, except with a floor length mirror half way up the wall. I'm fairly sure it's a one way mirror. I look around at all the other tributes. I've forgotten most of their names; they were too painful to remember.

We are the last ones there. Everyone looks at us as we join the line and I let go of Emery's hand. We all stand there for a minute, no one talks and the silence is broken only by a stream of people coming through the doors.

"In five days you will be in the Arena," says a man with dark skin and short silver hair. I notice the colour seems to be somewhat of a new trend. "Before that time we will give you the opportunity to learn methods of attack, defence and, most importantly, survival. You will then have a chance to demonstrate your skills to the Game Makers, they will give you a score out of 12, which will allow sponsors to judge on who they want to give their money to."

I look around me, the other Eyes are setting up little stalls each containing something from axes to face paints. The Man let us go off to the stalls and training practice. I look longingly at the knife stand, but remember Peeta's words and stray away towards the plants section. Emery follows me. I sit down in front of a pale faced, but once again silver haired, boy. I say boy because he looks no older than 16.

I turn to Emery, who has sat down beside me, "Em, how about you go to a different stall, we can stretch out our abilities, make sure we get a wider variety of skills, give us a better chance in the Games." He nods reluctantly and slowly slinks away to camouflage. I watch him go, wondering if there's something more to our friendship, whether I... I stop my thoughts there. Now is not the time nor place to be thinking that kind of thing.

A few hours, and almost poisonings, later and I think I'm finally getting the hang of the whole edible plants section. The boy at the stand, who says his name is Faunus, claps happily as I successfully separate the inedible plants away and nibble on the others, he has spent most of the morning hitting my hand away from the poisonous ones.

I smile and turn, to find myself within an inch of one of the best looking men I have seen in my life. He smiles. "Caela," he purrs gently, his eyes search mine as I look for an escape route. But it's no good, he has be well and truly cornered. I stare back at him, defiantly. His grey eyes sparkle, as he holds out a muscular hand. I take it, cautiously. "I'm Luthanda."

The name rings a bell and my mind flashes back to the Claiming. "District Six?" I ask and he nods, his smile widening, into an unnerving grimace. He still hasn't let go of my hand.

"Leave her alone," says a voice at my shoulder and I turn to see my saviour. A tall white haired girl has materialized at my shoulder, "And what will the Granddaughter of the great President Snow do about it?" the dark haired boy whispers in askance, leaning closer and closer to me.

I struggle away from him, my heart racing and my head pounding, his lips near mine, and my whole body convulses. My free hand is balled in a fist, ready to strike, if he dares go any further. As he closes the distance, he is thrust back, falling back onto the floor.

I look around, shocked, for it was not my hand which pushed him back. The white haired twins are standing shoulder to shoulder, both inside arms pointing outwards.  
>The whole room freezes. The floored boy stands, with the assistance of a girl. He smirks and walks off, as into the room come two men dressed in complete black, their eyes trained upon the Presidential grandchildren.<p> 


End file.
